Mallory didn't stop the car at Stella's apartment as she usually would. Instead, she kept driving, her focus unwavering. Stella, noticing the change in route, didn't question it. She already knew where they were headed. The manor.
It stood far from the noise and bustle of the world, shrouded in mystery and protected by layers of enchantments. Mallory's house wasn't just a home; it was a fortress. Nothing could breach its boundaries without Mallory's explicit permission. It was one of the safest places Stella could be, and tonight, Mallory had decided that's where Stella needed to stay.
Stella sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the darkened scenery passing by outside the car window. The shadows of the trees danced under the pale moonlight, and for a moment, she let herself get lost in the quiet rhythm of the moving vehicle.
How long should she keep running? The thought circled in her mind like a relentless tide. She was exhausted—exhausted from protecting herself, from fighting battles that never seemed to end, and from carrying the weight of her sorrows. How long could she endure this life of endless struggles? Why did the pain always find its way to her?
The tires crunched on the gravel as they arrived at Mallory's manor. It stood tall and imposing, its silhouette a stark contrast against the night sky. The building was timeless, almost as if it existed in a different realm altogether.
Mallory got out of the car, shutting the door behind her with purpose. Stella followed, her movements slower, almost hesitant. The large oak doors creaked open as Mallory led the way inside.
"None of the rooms are clean," Mallory said matter-of-factly as she walked toward the grand staircase. "You can sleep in my room."
Stella simply nodded, her expression unreadable. She wasn't in the mood to argue or make decisions. Following Mallory felt easier than thinking for herself at the moment.
Mallory's room was spacious but not ostentatious. A dark, elegant design dominated the space, with shelves of old books, intricate chandeliers, and thick drapes that blocked out the world. Mallory motioned to the bed.
"You can take it," she said. "I'll take the couch."
Stella opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Instead, she sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the hem of her dress. Mallory glanced at her, her usually cold demeanor softening for a moment.
"You're safe here," Mallory said quietly, almost as if she could sense the turmoil bubbling inside Stella.
Stella nodded again, this time with a faint smile of gratitude. Despite everything, she knew she could count on Mallory.
As Mallory dimmed the lights, Stella lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The weight of her thoughts pressed down on her, but for the first time in a while, she felt a small semblance of peace. The protection of Mallory's manor wasn't just magical—it was a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone in her struggles.
The sunlight streamed softly through the tall windows of Mallory's manor, waking Stella with its gentle warmth. She stretched slightly and turned her head to see Mallory still fast asleep on the couch, her figure curled up in a blanket. Quietly, Stella got out of bed, deciding to surprise her friend with breakfast.
Slipping down the grand staircase, she entered the spacious yet eerily empty kitchen. The counters were pristine, the appliances gleaming as if they had never been touched. Stella opened the refrigerator, expecting to find at least the basics, but was greeted with empty shelves. Not even a bottle of water graced the fridge.
She frowned, moving to the cabinets with a sliver of hope. But those, too, were bare. It was as though Mallory lived in this grand manor without a single thought for sustenance.
"What is she surviving on without eating anything?" Stella muttered to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.
Just as she closed the last cabinet in frustration, she heard soft footsteps descending the stairs. Mallory appeared in the doorway, her hair slightly tousled but her demeanor as nonchalant as ever.
"You'll find nothing in my kitchen," Mallory said casually, leaning against the doorframe. "Let's go to the café nearby."
Stella turned to face her, her green eyes narrowing. "You and I are going to have a serious talk about you eating nothing," she said firmly, crossing her arms.
Mallory smirked, unfazed by Stella's glare. "You can lecture me after breakfast."
Without bothering to change out of their comfortable loungewear, the two women stepped out into the morning air and walked to the café just a few streets away. The quaint little establishment had a cozy charm, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting out to greet them.
The lively chatter between them faded into the background as Mallory's gaze sharpened, her attention snagged by the newsstand near the café's entrance. Her expression shifted to one of intense focus as she rose from her chair without a word, weaving her way through the tables toward the stand.
Stella watched her curiously, a hint of unease creeping into her thoughts. "Mal?" she called out softly, but her voice went unanswered.
Moments later, Mallory returned, her face unreadable as she placed a glossy magazine on the table. The sound of the paper hitting the wooden surface seemed louder than it should have been.
"Look," Mallory said quietly, her tone laced with something Stella couldn't quite decipher—disbelief, maybe even caution.
Stella's eyes dropped to the cover, and in an instant, her heart stopped. Time seemed to freeze as her gaze locked onto the photograph that dominated the page. A face she thought she'd never see again stared back at her, looking as composed and confident as ever.
Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she traced the bold headline.
"The Simon Winchester: The Best Businessman of the Year."
The world around her blurred. Her hands clenched the edges of the magazine as her heart thundered in her chest. It couldn't be real. This wasn't possible.
"He's alive," Mallory said, her voice steady but her eyes filled with concern as she watched Stella's reaction.
"No," Stella whispered, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. "That... That is not him. That is not Simon," she added hastily, her voice rising with desperation.
But her eyes betrayed her words, lingering on every detail of his face—his sharp jawline, those piercing eyes, and the familiar smirk that had once brought her so much comfort.
"Stella, breathe," Mallory urged, reaching across the table to place a calming hand over Stella's trembling one.
"I can't... This doesn't make sense," Stella murmured, her thoughts spiraling. "He died, Mal. I saw it. I was there." Her voice cracked, tears welling in her green eyes as memories of Simon's death clawed at her mind.
How could this be? She had watched him die. She had mourned him, buried him in her heart, and tried to move on. And yet, here he was—alive, thriving, and apparently the face of success.
Her thoughts blurred together, her chest heaving as she fought to keep herself composed. "Can you drop me home?" Stella asked urgently, her voice trembling. She couldn't stay there, couldn't bear the weight of Mallory's concerned gaze or the magazine's taunting presence.
Mallory didn't argue. She rose from her seat, leaving money on the table, and headed out the door. In minutes, her car was parked outside, waiting for Stella.
Stella slid into the passenger seat silently, her hands clutching the magazine as if it might offer her answers. Her heart raced uncontrollably, the sound of her pulse deafening in her ears.
Neither of them spoke during the short drive, the silence thick with unspoken questions and mounting tension.
"We've reached," Mallory said gently as she stopped the car in front of Stella's home.
Stella unbuckled her seatbelt, her movements stiff and robotic. She turned to Mallory, forcing a weak smile. "Don't worry about it, Mal. I'll... I'll look into it." Her voice was shaky, her words far from convincing.
Mallory studied her for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded slowly, not wanting to push Stella further.
As Mallory drove away, Stella stood at the edge of the driveway, the magazine clutched to her chest. The world felt unsteady beneath her feet, her mind racing with one thought:
How could Simon Winchester be alive?